Naughtiness, Sin And My Need To Confess

ENRIQUE FERNANDEZ - Commentary

July 4, 1996|ENRIQUE FERNANDEZ

Do you believe in sin? I do. The notion of sin was instilled in me in Catechism class back when I was very young; it's a concept Catholic schools are particularly good at teaching. However, as they grow older many Catholics tweak that notion to reflect their direct experience with life instead of the dogma they were taught. As a result, most Catholics, at least in America, have given up on the practice of Confession: most American Catholics no longer feel a need to go tell a priest their sins because they no longer believe their sins are anybody else's business.

Yet, confession satisfies a very human need. Otherwise, it wouldn't be a staple of daytime talk shows and tabloid journalism. It seems that the notion of sin, the feeling of guilt, and the need to confess are wrapped up tight inside our psyches, and that you don't need a Catholic upbringing like mine to walk around with that psychic package inside ready to burst open. So, since I want to write about sin today, and I want you to keep reading. I promise to confess a couple of my sins at the end.

Back in Catholic school, we kids were taught the Ten Commandments and the notion that breaking any of them was a sin. Most of the Commandments, however, had little relevance to our young lives. I mean, we were not about to go worship other deities or kill anybody or stuff like that. But sexual misbehavior, ah, that certainly was in our minds and beginning to stir inside our bodies. Our teachers were men of the cloth, and that meant they were celibate, which was supposedly a very holy thing; yet, in retrospect it seems obvious that celibate teachers and preadolescent students were one very steamy combo. No wonder the only sins we were insistently warned against were sins of the flesh.

We learned about sin. And, eventually, we sinned. And we felt guilty. Confession was supposed to wash the guilt away, but what didn't wash away were those naughty impulses. So we sinned again. Some lapsed Catholics insist that the syndrome of sin and guilt is actually very sexy and that, consequently, Catholics make better lovers. I don't know. I do know that life teaches that there are worse things than naughtiness and that some naughtiness is no sin at all, just a healthy part of life.

But that doesn't mean there is no sin. Oh no. Back when I was learning about sin there was all that other bad stuff my hormones distracted me from. Like, Thou Shalt Not Kill. Now, that's a tough one to reconcile with your country's call to arms or your society's practice of capital punishment.

What is sin to me? In two words: deliberate harm. There are grades of sin, and they have to do with the grade of deliberateness and the grade of harm. Thus, to kick someone's butt because they said something bad 'bout yo' mama could be called a sin, but then you were kind of crazy angry at the time and unless you used excessive force your victim's butt will likely heal. On the other hand, to torture a political prisoner in the name of the state is the worst kind of evil, the most mortal of sins.

Judging what is sinful is not simple, and in many cases I don't feel qualified to judge. Some acts seem like necessary evils, equal parts necessary and evil. Abortion, the touchiest of issues, may kill children, as its foes argue, but war also kills children, and we salute its practitioners. Was the Holocaust a sin? Certainly. Was waging war against its agents a sin? It couldn't be.

And sexual sins? Dante, who gave us the notion of Hell that still fuels the popular imagination, had the wisdom to put sexual sinners in Hell's most outer circle, a place where the punishment - illicit lovers got buffeted by hot winds and could never touch each other - was so slight it was downright poetic. I think the Florentine poet had it right. Sexual misbehavior can be bad, but unless it's abusive, it's not very, very bad. The worst you can get for it is what Dante sentenced: Inferno Lite.

And now for my sins, as promised. They are, according to my beliefs, occasions when I have inflicted deliberate harm, and I did so in order to satisfy my needs regardless of others'. First, let me confess a venal sin. Exito, the Spanish-language weekly I edit, needed a new food writer, so for several months I courted (metaphorically) a writer from a competing publication. During my courtship I got to know the lady and learned that she was making a valiant effort to lose weight. I also knew that the job I was offering, unlike the one she held for the competing publication, involved restaurant reviewing, i.e. a lot of eating out. I got her (metaphorically), and since I did she has not lost weight but put on some. She blames me for it. I feel guilty.